#2 days late but sure.. ://

[cheebuss]

Dude they were left..... for dead..... 8===D

[seagull-scribbles]

They’re out of time (cancelled)

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[numberonetribble]

Babysitting Shenanigans Part 1: Piston goes to Shockwave's house. They have an okay(ish) time!

Bonus:

[kirby-the-gorb]

[ballpitwitch]

PUP QUIZ with KEANU REEVES

“Who’s the puppy king?! I’m the puppy king!”

[botanicallyinclinednerd]

What I love so much about "No Longer You" is the amount of foreshadowing, and how much this song and this knowledge seals the fates of the characters.

I am willing to bet that Odysseus knowing that one of his men, one of his "brothers," ends up betraying him causes him to distrust them all and rule with ruthlessness, which leads to more deaths and to Eurylochus finally having enough and, inevitably, betraying Odysseus.

I'm also sure that Odysseus latches onto the fact he gets home and does reckless and risky things along the way, because hey, the prophet said he makes it home. Never mind that he also says he dies

[ambivartence]

This is time to be stronger.

[zaacoy]

freenoodles request!! Tang smoochin his husband on the snout and Pigsy getting extremely flustered!! (I love these old gays so much they are my fathers actually) ((real)).

he caught him off guard

Here are your dads, thank you for your request!! Very cute concept to draw out thank you very very much :D !

Small bonus! heeheehoo :3c

[todays-just-a-daydream]

in absence of a reunion noel interview i'm going back to revisit the great gallagher thaw of late 2014/early 2015 to try to make some sense outta these strange reunion times we are in now.

i've been really curious about this time period for awhile and stockpiling posts with the intention of assembling them in some kind of chronological order. still not quite sure what i'm looking at but it's a bit like find the edge pieces of a puzzle and snapping them together for a frame. you can get a vague idea while understanding much of the pieces are missing to complete the picture. most notably noel is giving interviews at this time while liam is mostly out of the public eye entirely.

assembled them in the queue and looking at them in order now and getting a bit choked up by what we have. even factoring in the normal album press cycle, noel's interviews have noticeable outlier moments during this time. charting his uncharacteristically relaxed calm fondness to emotionally raw moments when mentioning liam, it does look like any attempt at a truce all goes south within a months time (mid february to mid march 2015). coincidence it’s when dead in the water is written and the chasing yesterday is released? of course it’s not lost on me it also is at a period of nostalgia with the 20th anniversaries of their first two albums and part of the buzz about a reunion driven by stone roses reunion. but in the course of the entire feud it sticks out as different. and suggests noel was more invested in a reconciliation than he’d ever be willing to admit.

queuing them up now. when they're done posting i'll link them to the chronological list below to access them easily.

—

2014/2015 gallagher timeline

2014 february : beady eye cancels coachella gig, manager splits 21 october: "we're on good terms." (video) 25 october: "beady eye are no longer." ?? october: "don't give up"

17 november: in the heat of the moment released (do the damage bside) 31 december: "i think liam should make a solo record"

2015 12 january: ballad of the mighty i released (revolution song bside) 4 february: "i’d write him a few songs. i've got a few songs lying around that he'd be good at singing." (also takes a dig at beady eye) 20 february: "[liam] sends me cheeky texts from time to time." (interview) 25 february: "we're alright. i'm a bit concerned that he's starting to grow facial hair....family is family, you don't have to patch it up do you?…blood is thicker than mud." (interview) 26 february: dead in the water writing 28 february: recording dead in the water live at RTÉ 2FM radio studios in dublin (after dying of the light which airs 2 march with a live interview)

2 march: chasing yesterday released 14 march: "keeping it in the family" lg tweet with nghfb pass 21 march: "you're already ruining my day talking about him" 24 march: "liam is a very angry man still and as long as he's angry we won't be friends i'm afraid" 2(?) may: "can't be arsed" + lg tweet goad 7-11 may: "busted" lg tweet (in response to AA interview)

11 may: riverman released (leave my guitar alone bside)

26 july: liam playing bold in a pub (video)

28 august: lock all the doors single (here’s a candle for your birthday cake bside)

21 september: noel wishing liam a happy birthday 5(?) december: "and maybe one day you know we will get back together" (video)

[harri-etvane]

Title: Soloveiko has landed.

Pairing: Maks/Vova

Word Count: 1600

Chapter: 2

Something pushes him forward without him thinking about it - a driving need, one hand pressed against the flat of the door, his heart pounding somewhere outside his chest.

Maksym knows exactly what he will find, who he will find - but the nerves still linger, questions drifting around his head. What if it’s all different somehow?  What if those two weeks of absence have stretched on, endless - magnifying into something different until he is no longer in lockstep with Vova, instead just ever so slightly behind? He couldn’t bear it; to not know, to be outside of it all, to be locked away from him. He takes a breath in and pushes the door open, stepping over the threshold and letting the heavy wooden door thunk shut softly behind him. It’s a familiar room, one he’s spent hours in over the last two years - teaching self-defence as the dark hours of the night slip by unremarked upon.

He’s spent more time than he cares to think about offering out a hand to pull Volodymyr to his feet, his skin slick with sweat, waiting for those dark eyes on him, a nod before they go again; all the anger that drains away with each blow until he’s too tired to fight much more. He thinks about those moments often; after all the anger, all the rage that drives Volodymyr has gone, leaving just his softness as he leans against Maksym’s shoulder, too tired to move, his voice a low, scratched hum.

Maksym knows, in all that silence, is everything that Volodymyr would never let anyone else see. His anger, righteous and raw - but all his hurt too, reflected back at him in bleeding knuckles, burning muscles, purple-black bruises that take a little too long to fade. He'd never let anyone else see the quiet abyss that engulfs him when he's too drained to do anything but sit in silence, too weary to talk. Maksym takes these particular moments and stores them away, knowing that to be trusted so much is the best treasure he could ever be gifted, especially from a man who gives so much of himself to others. This tiny shard that is his, and his alone, even if comes bracketed by pain, it is not to be shared by anyone else.

Toeing off his boots by the door, his every movement is utterly noiseless, a stealthiness honed to its finest point through years of training. Sometimes, Vova asks with a laugh where he learned all this, and he’s never quite said - the moment never quite right. He takes a breath in, and all the nerves, the worry from before; it flickers, sparks again. He steps forward, grasping and then finding a specific kind of ease in this space, something that has been missing for the last fortnight. He knows this place, this building, every nook and cranny, every corner. He knows where an assassin might choose to hide, he knows how they would try to gain entrance. He knows where he needs to take Vova if it ever comes to that, a path that his mind only ventures down when night crawls in and his heart feels too large in his ribcage.

Maksym knows the man inside this room, the one around whom they all revolve, but he especially, on whom everything depends - the freedom of the free world, the continuation of their beloved Ukraine. It’s a weight he carries with grace, that leaves Maksym speechless often, even awestruck occasionally - a steady, quiet balancing act, a burden that he knows would break anyone else. 

His eyes find Volodymyr at the opposite side of the gym, locked in one sided combat with a punching bag as it swings from the ceiling, the chain clanking in a morose fashion as the noise echoes. The lights are dim - hardly there, softer somehow than the harsh, grim fluorescents of the situation room or the wide windows of his office where the light streams in without pause, drawing shadows onto his face. Maks watches in silence for a while; struck�� by just how singular Volodymyr’s focus is, the set of his jaw is something that looks like anger, that rage that comes to the surface, swallowed down during the day. He is utterly unaware of his surroundings, focused instead on his driving anger, his relentless drive forward, unthinking of anything else; his whole world narrowed to the impact of bare knuckles against the target; again and again.

Maksym watches and he needs to know, almost desperately now - he needs to know that Volodymyr knows what to do if he is not there - what to do with all that anger, all that singular focus. The thought shudders inside his brain, filling him with a sudden, specific dread, cold and awful. He needs to know that Volodymyr knows what to do if there would ever be someone there to harm him, someone who would not think twice about causing him pain, about ripping his light from the world and leaving them all in darkness.

He moves until he is at Volodymyr’s back, then at his shoulder, still unknown, unrecognised in the dark. He longs for the other man to turn around, for that spell to break and a spark of recognition to bloom, just for a second - but it doesn’t. Maksym reaches forward, hooking an arm around Volodymyr's chest, a hand pressed over his mouth.

The world falls away, the concrete walls around them dissolving, the dim soft lighting fading out into something unspecific, intransient. None of it matters. Everything has narrowed to a few points, the thrum of a pulse, the press of a hand. It feels like an age - an epoch passes with Volodymyr pressed against him; unmoving, utterly frozen. He is close enough that Maksym hears, feels even the hitch of his breath, the shift that occurs in his stance, everything in him ready and willing to fight. That change alone eases a specific ache within Maksym’s chest. He does not let up, one hand still over Volodymyr’s mouth, the grip on him fierce; just enough for fight-or-flight.

And it’s Vova. Of course, of course it’s fight.

It always has been; from the very beginning.

Always will be; until the end.

They’ve learned this together, a macabre dance, and it loosens the tension inside of  Maksym’s chest as Vova’s elbow connects just where it’s meant to, against his ribs; the power behind it is enough to take his breath away for a second, knowing it will leave a red mark beneath his shirt that will slowly blossom into a bruise. Volodymyr finds the same point again, lands another blow; twisting to get himself free of Maks’ grip, using every trick he knows.

“Coward.”

Vova’s voice is a snarl, something guttural, bitter in it and even though Maks knows it isn’t directed at him; it’s far too dark for Vova to see his face, it lodges inside his heart like a barb, twisting until it bleeds. The insult is directed instead at his unknown attacker who had come at him in the dark, from behind. As Vova finally gets free, Maksym barely avoids another punch, the fierce drive of it no less startling for all his knowledge of his President and how he fights. He concentrates, parries the blows, still not easy despite knowing instinctively where the next one will come from. He was the one to tell Volodymyr what would work best, where he needed to aim, to go for - where would give him the best chance of victory, and if not victory at least then escape; time, a grasped moment or two that might give him the chance to find a weapon, to get the upper hand.

Not this time.

They fight in near silence, away from the light, the only sound is their harsh, uneven breathing, just out of sync with one another.He knows which side Vova favours, and Maksym sidesteps him swiftly, pivoting behind. He hooks one leg around Vova’s knee and moves sharply for the side he knows is his weakest. 

It sends Vova slamming into the mat with enough force to rip the breath from his lungs and there is barely a second’s pause before Maks grips him by the shoulders, pressing him into the mat, his grip hard enough to leave a mark. Vova's hands shoot up instantly, fingers digging hard into his biceps, his face taken over with a snarl of rage - the grace of it all gone now, moving to push back already - refusing to surrender. With his knees either side of Volodymyr’s thighs, his whole weight bearing down on the smaller man, Maksym is suddenly brought up short, in a way he hadn’t expected or ever anticipated. He is suddenly very aware of the fact that Volodymyr really is there, beneath him, his muscle, the broadness of his chest and the strength of his arms.

Something in Maksym’s heart quivers, glad that his face is still in shadow.

“Well done. You remembered what I taught you-” his voice is a low, rough rumble and the pressure in his grip eases - a thousand emotions flooding him, not least of all; there is pride, because of course, of course he remembered, of course he fought, of course, of course.

You will see our faces, not our backs.

“Next time, be quicker, better, sharper. Ukraine needs you.”

I need you.

In the quiet light, those gentle brown eyes look up at him. Still soft and questioning - trusting despite everything from the last few minutes, the last two years, and it feels like coming home.

“....Maks?”

[jevilow2electricboogaloo]

[player1064]

Footy RPF Fictober, day 2 - injury

also available on ao3

MINDLESS NONSENSE!!!! also side-note writing about Gary having tight muscles that need a massage is making me very aware of how tight MY muscles are. massage roller save me....

carraville, set vaguely while they're off on one of their little trips to film the overlap on tour

---

Jamie hauls a limping Gary out of the lift and into his hotel room, lets him put his weight on him as he gingerly lowers himself to sit down on the bed with a wince.

What a drama queen, honestly. They’d been spending their afternoon off of filming on the beach with Roy and Wrighty – a chance to relax, but of course Gary Neville���s not relaxed a day in his life and he’d started getting antsy after a few minutes on a sun lounger.

Jamie’s also not much for sunbathing, so he’d found them a frisbee and they’d been playing around with it when Gary had suddenly done a weird little hop mid run and gone ‘ooh, fuck, I’ve done me ‘amstring’ in that squeaky little voice of his.

So now: Jamie’s left Roy and Ian at the beach (not that they’d notice if he was there or not anyway) to bring Gary back to the hotel, tease him a bit about being an old man with a broken-down body, and then get back to enjoying his day.

But Gary just looks so miserable, like he feels guilty for not being a twenty-something anymore, like he’s just personally ruined their whole trip, and Jamie feels – well, he should try do something, shouldn’t he?

“D’you want me to—” he gestures vaguely at Gary’s leg, not sure if he should say it. If it’s allowed. “I mean, I do an alright massage, if yer –"

“Oh.” Gary blinks. “Oh, I – ha. Thought you were just gonna give me an ibuprofen and leave me to ‘ave a nap or something.”

“Oh,” Jamie echoes. “Yeah, no, that – makes more sense, doesn’t it? I’ll just –” he looks around the room, all of a sudden feeling slightly desperate. Does he even have any ibuprofen on him? Does Gary?

“Massage sounds nice, though.”

Gary isn’t looking at him as he says this, is fidgeting with the starched white sheets on the bed instead. Oh, Jamie thinks again. Oh, he’s not used to asking for help.

A memory hits him, unwelcomed, of a summer’s day a lot like this one. But instead of the warm sands of Italy he’s on the battered grass of Melwood, instead of Gary sitting awkwardly at the end of the bed like a child waiting for a telling-off it’s –

He shakes the thought off.

“Go on then,” he replies, nodding towards the bed. “On your front. And off with those shorts, eh Gaz?”

Jamie’s never felt right using that nickname for Gary, but it’s a necessary evil. ‘Cause otherwise he’d just be a man asking another man to strip for him. So: Gaz it is.

Gary rolls his eyes but he shifts his shorts off – he’s got black boxers on underneath, big fucking surprise. Jamie could’ve told you that without even needing to look; he’s pretty sure it’s the only kind of underwear he owns.

Jamie goes into the bathroom to fetch the hotel-brand body lotion trying to pass itself off as fancy, then he hovers awkwardly at the edge of the bed, kind of half-kneeling half-standing next to Gary as he tries to work out how to do this in the least questionable way possible.

“Where’s it worst?” he asks, cringing at the way his voice cracks, just a tiny bit. Probably not even noticeable.

Gary hums in thought. “Hamstring,” he says simply.

Well, duh.

He eventually realises that Jamie’s not making a move because he needs more information, so he takes another second then says, “uh, think it’s the centre muscle. Maybe six inches up from my knee.”

Jamie spreads his hand over the back of Gary’s thigh, runs a firm line over the muscle with his thumb. “Here?”

“Hmm, bit lower maybe.”

Every muscle in Gary’s thigh is tight, left unattended for god knows how long. But Jamie knows it when he’s got it, feels the hard knot of muscle that makes his whole leg twitch when he presses into it. Slowly, slowly, he starts working at it, tries to stay gentle so he doesn’t put Gary off when he’s just barely started.

“Mmph,” Gary says, his voice muffled by the pillow, “you’re not bad at this, y’know.”

Jamie digs his thumb into the muscle hard, just ‘cause he can. It twitches involuntarily under the pressure, and Gary lets out a displeased, squeaky sort of hum. Then, after a few seconds, he watches smugly as the tension holding Gary’s entire body rigid starts to fade, as he relaxes back into the mattress.

“I’m serious.” Gary tries to twist around and look at Jamie, moving to prop himself up on one elbow. Jamie pushes him in the shoulder so that he lies back down. “D’you take a class or  somethin’? Don’t think I’ve had a half-decent massage since before I retired.”

“Bloody cheapskate,” Jamie mutters. Because of course Gary would never go out and pay for a massage. Though to be fair to him that’s probably less because of the cost and more because it’s never occurred to him that he might need one. “No classes, no. What, you think I can’t just be naturally talented?”

He can practically hear Gary rolling his eyes. “Just tryin’ to make conversation, James. Makes it less like I’m just lying half naked in a hotel room while another man feels me up.”

“Steady on, lad. There’s a long list of people I’d rather be feelin’ up right now than you.”

“Mmm,” Gary says. He sounds softer than Jamie’s used to, less frantic. “You do this for Nicola? She’s into her running, right? Bet she appreciates havin’ a masseuse at her beck and call.”

Jamie freezes, just for a moment. The sun beaming through the windows is warm on his back, and if he closes his eyes he can almost convince himself that he’s some other place, some other time. In his memories it’s always summer, warm and hazy and sweet. God, Carra, no wonder the girls all like you so much.

He shakes himself back to reality, back to Gary and his troublesome hamstring – or rather now his calf, because as Jamie works his way down his leg he’s realising there’s not a single relaxed muscle in his body. Typical Gary, of course.

“Not for Nicola, no,” he says, all light and conversational like. “She’d rather go to a professional. No need to risk my meaty hands making things worse.”

“Oh, right.”

Who, then? Gary kindly doesn’t ask. After all, he’s the expert in half-truths, in talking his way neatly around a subject until you forget the question ever crossed your mind.

Gary’s still built like a defender. Solid, stocky. Thick thighs that were never going to make him a sprinter but could get him in the air, could win him his fair share of tackles. There’s a faded surgery scar on his knee, a few more scattered over his ankle, his foot. Jamie’s not sure he could name a single footballer that doesn’t have scars like that.

Is all this really worth it? he’d asked once, a few lifetimes ago. He’d got a call from Mo, late evening, and he’d gotten straight into his car and driven half an hour to find him home alone, lying on his plush carpet with his face twisted in agony. And the only person he’d tried to call was Jamie. He always used to call Jamie.

Don’t be stupid, Carra, he’d said. He’d been trying to sound confident, cocky, but it had been through gritted teeth as Jamie tried to ease his leg back to a useable state. Of course it’s worth it. He’d let out a cry of pain that shot right through Jamie, that made him want to fold in on himself, then he’d looked him straight in the eyes and said it again. Of course it’s worth it.

“Sometimes,” Gary says now, interrupting the scene in Jamie’s mind, “sometimes, when it’s really cold I still feel an ache in my foot.”

Jamie’s nowhere near his foot, so he’s not sure why he’s bringing it up at all, but then –

“Becks used to get the same. An’ it’s so stupid, isn’t it? The things that make us – but every time I feel it, I wonder if he’s feeling it too. And I wonder if he’s thinkin’ the same about me, d’youknowwhatImean?”

The Foot, the papers used to call it, and The Foot’s Best Friend. Jamie kneads his fingers into Gary’s calf, thinks about all the times he’s gone through the same motions a on slimmer pair of legs, wonders if Michael ever thinks about calling him again when he’s in pain. Feels a twinge of guilt that he doesn’t ever really think about Michael at all.

He clears his throat. “That any better?”

Gary shuffles to sit upright, stretches his leg out like he’s testing it still works after such a grievous injury as the minor hamstring pull he’s suffered. “You know what, I think it actually is. Thanks, Carra. Maybe I should keep you on retainer, eh?”

“Not enough money in the world, Gary, this was a one-time offer.”

[lavendorii]

we make it a two-player game :)

[deoidesign]

Look at these stickers my brain is literally so huge. God. I love them so much.

I hadn't tried to do a sticker sheet at home before because I knew it would be difficult, and I was right! Getting the cut lines to line up with the print was super hard and there were many failed attempts, but it was so worth it I'm so happy with them!!!

This sticker sheet is for my patrons this month ^^

[hrokkall]

ULTRATOBER DAY 13 /// STALKER

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